Stone and the Three Kings: Part 2

But there was nothing. Only people going about their day, and a lone firefly buzzing about my field of vision.

“What’s wrong?” Sandra asked. She was concerned.

“Nothing,” I said, quickly relaxing myself so she would relax. The firefly buzzed around my face, so I swatted it away. “Let’s just go.”

While this wasn’t my first time being followed by something I couldn’t see following me, it was the first time it was happening with someone who didn’t know my secret. You can understand the intense pressure I was under - assuming you’re the kind of person who should be reading this. If not, I recommend you give this to your local akara or suya dealer; they’ll know what to do.

“You’re sure there’s nothing wrong?” Sandra asked for what was probably the third time. At this point, we had turned into her street; deathly quiet in contrast to the bright boisterousness of the main road.

“Wrong?” I asked, looking behind me. “Why would anything be wrong?”

“I wonder for you, na,” she complained. “You keep looking back at every little sound. Are you expecting us to be robbed?”

I scoffed. “Of course not.” I was expecting us to be murdered in cold blood on this quiet, lonely street. My head and body taken as a trophy for the powers that be, her corpse left to rot as a warning to my friends. I felt no need to tell her that, of course.

Her house was farther down the street, and I was counting the seconds until we got there. My fear of my father was no longer driving me – although it was still at the back of my mind. The world was deathly quiet, and the night was pitch black, save for some lights in some houses. My sword continued to shiver in my bag, and I shivered along with it. Sandra shivered as well.

“Chai,” she whispered, hugging herself. “How did it get so cold suddenly?”

I made an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. “Climate change, I guess.”

She laughed. I laughed too. My sword shook violently.

I gave a little backwards glance, but I saw no one behind us, save for a sliver of light buzzing about my face. Another firefly. I swatted it away, irritated.

There was a loud, derisive snort to my side. “You are jumpy tonight, aren’t you?” Sandra said.

I chuckled. “Streets are rough,” I said sheepishly.

“Not these streets…oww!” Sandra winced and slapped her neck. The firefly escaped, disappearing into the darkness.

“Sorry, eh,” I said. “Does it hurt?”

“It does.” Sandra moaned, rubbing the sore spot. She groaned and hissed. “I didn’t even know fireflies bit people.”

She collapsed faster than I could say, “They don’t.”

A movement to my left (I was now facing Sandra, who was unconscious on the road) drew my attention. A figure stood shrouded in the darkness. He looked like a regular human (who was naked or in skin tight clothing), but my instincts told me it wasn’t. I reached into my bag and pulled out my sword, holding it ready for the attack.

The world stood still, or at least, we did. The figure was unmoving in the darkness, and I was not going to move away from Sandra. The sword shook in my hand, but not from its power. I didn’t know what that thing was, and I had a policy against fighting things when I didn’t know how they could kill me. It’s a sage policy I wish more people would adopt.

After some time passed, I decided I would be proactive.

“What are you?!” I asked, putting down my sword. (What did you expect? I’d actually attack that thing? In the night? With no backup? Like an idiot?)

The thing said nothing, so I repeated the question, this time in the sacred tongue. It was still silent.

“Do you know who I am?” I cried. “I am Obagbagbare, the son of Obajobalai. How dare you stay silent when I command you?!” (Be not fooled by the authority in my words, I could not back them up. As I said before, my father wants me dead. Disowning me was no problem for him).

The figure moved. It put its hands to its stomach and made an odd, guttural, otherworldly sound that caught me off guard, so much so that I moved forward a step. It took me a while to realize it was laughter.

“You? The son of what? The son of who?” The thing said when it was done holding its sides. It spat before continuing. “Let me warn you: don’t you ever call my master’s name in vain again! Ever!”

“My father sent you?” I was not surprised, of course. “Then, why do you stand in the shadows like a coward. If you’re truly a son of spirits and not of man, come and fight me!" (What I’d meant to say was, 'Okay, how about you come over here and we can discuss this as rational individuals without resorting to violence,' but I guess I misplaced a few words here and there. The sacred tongue is complicated like that. We’ll let it be what it is.)

The thing laughed again. “And why would I fight an insect such as you?”

“You said my father sent you after me? I didn’t think he rewarded failure.”

“True. Your father does punish the failure of his own,” the figure replied. “But your father didn’t send me to kill you. Only to disgrace you.”

Disgrace me? That didn’t sound like old man Lai at all. Maybe he’s losing his touch. And disgrace me how? I asked the last question aloud. He replied with laughter that rattled my brain.

“They told me you were ignorant. But don’t worry. My work is already done.” He didn’t give me a chance to reel from being called ignorant (spirits put so much pressure on me for not knowing all the nuances of their world in the little time I’ve known of its existence. They’re like parents in a way) before continuing. “But if you insist on doing battle with your better, who am I to deny you your doom.”

The figure let out a quick laugh and bolted towards me at top speed. And this wasn’t human top speed. This was the top speed of the spirits, meaning he was upon me faster than I could cry “Arggh!”

“Arggh!” I cried. I shut my eyes and swung my sword blindly.

My sword exploded with a light so bright that it pierced through my eyelids. That’s how I knew I managed to hit it. (Fun fact: My sword is made from a steel sharper than steel, and can cut through reality like tissue paper).

I opened my eyes, and focused through the now dimming light. What I saw…would have horrified me months ago. At that point, I’d seen worse.

The thing looked pretty close to human, even with the four eyes and fangs sticking out its mouth. Its skin was golden brown, and it seemed to reflect the light from my sword. It was naked, and I saw a huge gash on its bare chest. Golden light, not blood, poured out of the wound, evaporating as it touched air.

The only thing I could note as odd was the smile on its face. Is it…happy? Proud, even? I told myself it was a trick of the light, but that was an obvious lie.

“And if you’re satisfied now, my prince,” it said, a mocking emphasis on the words 'prince' and 'satisfied'. “My work here is done.” And then, it vanished with the light into thin air, leaving me alone in darkness with my confusion...and Sandra.

I'll try to make this as brief as possible.

My name is Stone, my father wants to kill me, and an evil spirit has frozen my girlfriend.

I am dead serious.

I am not a regular teenager, and it was pretending to be one that got me into this mess.

Now, I have to enter the realm of dangerous and unpredictable spirits to fix my mess.

Will I succeed? I won't bet on it.

Part Three is Coming Soon. Tell us what you think of this story so far, in the comments section!

Stone and the Three Kings: Part 1

Don’t you hate it when you have to summon potentially dangerous spirits just to save your girlfriend’s life?

If you didn’t relate to the first line, then please bury this book. Or better yet, burn it.

The world isn’t ready for the secrets this journal holds. This is a short tale, but I promise it will shock you. It will mystify you. It might even horrify you!

It will cause you to question everything you’ve been told by your parents, teachers, and both religious and academic scholars!

Or it may not be your preferred reading.

It was our first official date. I say official because Sandra and I had been going out for almost four months at that point. We both have ultra-conservative parents – and my father wants to murder me. So when I finally moved out of the friend zone, it was with no real plan on how two fifteen-year-olds would maintain a relationship.

And don’t get me wrong, it’s fun to get together after school, sit together at break time, and pass the occasional badly spelled love letter across class. But then her parents signed her up for after school lessons, and we noticed that some of our classmates were intercepting the letters we were passing around (While I did appreciate the occasional punctuation check and grammar correction, it’s still impolite). We also read Romeo & Juliet in the library – or rather, the Romeo and Juliet Wikipedia page - and we decided the whole 'forbidden love' thing was overhyped.

So after much deliberation, we told our parents. And all things considered, my mother took it well. I don’t mean much better than I imagined. I mean, she was happy. Excited, even. I would have been suspicious if she didn’t already get along well with Sandra (who knew her obsession with telenovelas would actually be useful?). Of course, I never gave my mum any reason not to trust me, so all I had to do was promise not to do anything inappropriate with Sandra and we had her blessing.

Sandra’s father was the real problem.

See, Sandra’s mother was a darling. If she had any say in the matter, I doubt she would mind her daughter dating. Last last, she would prefer she start when she was older – maybe twenty-two, give or take a few years. But that was the thing, she had no say in it - or in much of anything as far as I observed.

Sandra’s dad was the absolute worst kind of person to know if you’re anything like me. An old-fashioned conservative bordering-on-fanatic Christian who treated all teenage boys the way he treated devil-worshippers and third-wave feminists, keeping them as far away from his daughter as possible.

He didn’t like it when boys sat close to his daughter in church. He frequently complained that Sandra had too many male friends in school (three to be precise). And he despised me. Apparently, he didn’t like that I called myself Stone (as opposed to my original name, Livingstone, which you should never address or even think of me by). He considered it a sign that I was disrespectful and not raised properly. To say I was offended on behalf of my mother was an understatement. Being a single mother isn’t easy; especially when your husband continually schemed to murder both you and your son.

I was against telling him from the beginning. I thought it was a bad idea, but she convinced me.

“The worst thing he can do is say no,” she said.

She was wrong. He set his dogs on me.

“You were lucky,” Sandra told me at the ticket line. “He was in a good mood.”

“Hmm,” I said, trying not to breath in. The fat man standing in front of me just farted. “How are Rory and Bolt, by the way? I didn’t see them when I came over.”

“Oh, they’re dead,” Sandra said, her voice turning grim. “I think they had ticks or something…”

It was a Saturday, so predictably, the cinema was filled with people. This meant the counters were packed to the brim with lines of people who had nothing better to do on a late weekend afternoon than watch the latest superhero flick or animated film. And I, a near omnipotent being with powers and responsibilities well beyond the comprehension of the regular thirteen-year-old, also had nothing better to do, and neither did my now official girlfriend (We’d planned to go to the arcade just across from the cinema, but apparently it had closed down to accommodate a Dominos branch, and we were just… It wasn’t worth it).

But I digress – I do that a lot, try to get used to it. I’m actually digressing a bit right now, as the story doesn’t really begin in the cinema, but in the street hours later. But I think all of this information is important to provide some kind of context (maybe it isn’t a diversion after all?)

Sandra and I stood in line, about five people away from the counter. She’d buried herself in the cinema’s film guide while I watched the people at the front of the line decide whether to take their hot dog with mustard or ketchup, trying to fathom how people eat non-popcorn foods during a movie. I made cursory glances at my watch in the midst of those philosophical musings.

“Is it that hard to pick a film?!” I asked when I noticed it was already five minutes past three. “Just pick a film so we can watch na!”

Sandra looked up from the film guide, giving me the look of disdain she tailored specifically for me. “I’m sorry, my accurate time keeper, I didn’t know we were rushing anywhere.” She glanced at the front of the line.

They had decided on both condiments, and were currently stuck between 7up and Mountain Dew. I immediately came up with a comeback, but she kept talking, making sure it never saw the light of day.

“Any way, I think we should watch the new Quentin movie.” She moved in closer to me, holding up the guide so we could both look. I was a bit distracted by her hair though, which brushed against my face – with how smooth it was. How she could get her hair so smooth and sweet smelling? Her father definitely didn’t buy her any hair products, and I wasn’t sure her mom bought anything without patriarchal permission. “See?” She pointed to the third movie on the roster. “There’s a screening in twenty minutes. And its Quentin, so it’ll definitely be good.”

I had to admit she had brought forward some very good points, but there was a problem. “It’s three hours na.” I said, shaking my head.

“So?”

“Your dad said you should be home by six.” After some masterful negotiation by me, I was able to talk him down from his original one p.m., which would have required time manipulation abilities I had yet to master.

“So?” she asked again, oblivious of my worries. I must have made a weird face, because she started to laugh. “Stone, stop worrying. They always go to service by five on Saturday.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“How do you not know?” she asked, an eyebrow raised. “Your own mother goes.”

I nearly hit myself in the head. Sandra shook her head and laughed.

“Anyway, they won’t be back till eight,” she said. “We have lots of time.”

I didn’t share her confidence, nor did I want to push my luck. “Sorry, Sandra. I don’t share your confidence, and I don’t want to push my luck.”

Sandra’s brow creased, and she raised her eyebrow again. She was no longer smiling, but I could tell she was still amused. “You are really afraid of my father, aren’t you?”

I thought back to an hour earlier when I sat in Sandra’s living room while she got ready. Alone with her father, who sat in an arm chair adjacent to the couch I was on. He explained to me with his mouth that he wanted his daughter home as early as possible, safe and sound; and with his eyes that he hated me and would do anything human and divine to make sure I wouldn’t so much as cross her mind without being run over by his heavy-duty truck of overprotectiveness. Anytime I assured him she would be fine with me, he glared at me like I confessed to spitting on the cross for a living.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” I said. Sandra hissed and checked the guide again.

“Stone, the movie starts at quarter to three.” She said, her tone a bit too patronizing. “It’s like two hours, forty minutes. It’s not even up to three hours. There’s no how we won’t be home by six.”

I sighed and conceded. A few minutes later, we bought our tickets and snacks, and were on our way to the screening room.

Four hours later, Sandra and I stepped out of the movie theatre, both at a loss as to how the cinema could not have a generator in place for an hour long power outage. Sandra recounted the entire thing like a funny anecdote. You could say I was thinking ahead. It was six thirty, and while Sandra was still confident her folks were still in service, I didn’t like our odds.

“Oh, Stone?” Sandra whined. “You’re no fun when you’re like this.”

“Well, I’m sorry…,” I said, sarcastically. “…but I’d feel much more comfortable if we were both home…” I checked my watch. “…thirty…four minutes ago.”

Sandra rolled her eyes and hissed. “Daddy would have called if he was home. If we leave now, we’ll be home in ten minutes.”

“You never know how extraordinarily plans can go wrong,” I said, as we left the mall. In hindsight, I was probably the one who’d jinxed it.

The second we walked into the street, I knew we were being followed. I turned, my eyes darting around. My sword – which I carried in my school bag at all times – started to tingle, further warning me of the danger.

I'll try to make this as brief as possible.

My name is Stone, my father wants to kill me, and an evil spirit has frozen my girlfriend.

I am dead serious.

I am not a regular teenager, and it was pretending to be one that got me into this mess.

Now, I have to enter the realm of dangerous and unpredictable spirits to fix my mess.

Will I succeed? I won't bet on it.

Part Two is Coming Soon. Tell us what you think of this story so far, in the comments section!